


At Rest

by SlimReaper



Series: The Chemicals-verse [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Are you getting the message, Domestic Fluff, Healthy Relationships, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, iopele, there is much fluff here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 02:34:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6101947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlimReaper/pseuds/SlimReaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by <a href="http://shokveyv.tumblr.com/post/138483276788/at-rest">this art by shokveyv</a> and a message that Menial sent me: what would Ratchet do if he found Drift sleeping like this in his room?</p><p>Pure fluff. Ain't sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Rest

Ratchet sighed as he finally finished his unexpectedly long shift in the medbay. He’d expected to be out of here long ago, but it seemed like events had conspired against him to keep him working over five hours later than his shift was scheduled to end.

It wasn’t the first time that had happened and it sure as pit wouldn’t be the last, he’d been a medic long enough to know that. But this time it sucked more than usual because he’d actually had plans for his evening.

He sighed and stretched his cramped backstruts. Well, it was too late to meet up with Drift at Swerve's now even if he’d had the energy to try to be social. The bar was already closed for the night shift. Once again, he’d have to find a way to make things up to the speedster.

If he could.

Sighing again, Ratchet pushed that depressing train of thought away. He used the connecting door to enter his hab suite instead of looping through the hallway. It was a bad habit and he’d made some progress in breaking it, but he didn’t want to run into anyone else tonight. All he wanted to do was apologize to Drift (again), have some energon, and get a whole lot of recharge, not even necessarily in that order. He didn’t even bother with the washracks tonight, even though the hot cleanser would undoubtedly feel good on his aching back. The other three things were a much higher priority.

Especially talking to Drift. He had been far more patient with Ratchet’s unpredictable schedule than anyone Ratchet had ever dated, but even so, he surely had his limits, and Ratchet dreaded the day he reached them. No relationship he'd ever had even approached the intensity of his feelings for Drift. Ratchet would do just about anything for him, but if it came down to a choice between the mech he loved with his entire being or his spark-deep calling as a medic, he didn't know what he'd do. There simply wasn’t an option that wouldn’t make him miserable in one way or the other.

No, he had to keep Drift from getting fed up enough to reach that point. He had to do _better._

Ratchet stepped through the door and was already starting to open a comm link to Drift when a soft sound abruptly told him that he wasn’t alone in his quarters. He froze, optics searching the room until he found the source of the noise.

Biolights glowed in the darkness in a pattern of red that Ratchet had come to know almost as well as his own. The soft _shush_ of slow, deep venting and the dimmed glimmer of those lights explained why his unexpected visitor hadn’t greeted him when he’d entered.

Drift had clearly come over to surprise him, but he’d slipped into recharge while he was waiting for Ratchet to get off-shift.

The anxiety that had been clenching Ratchet’s spark while he’d worried that Drift might be angry with him for working so late vanished. The relief was nearly enough to make him light-headed. He closed the door behind him as quietly as possible, then slowly crossed the room. Long years spent caring for sleeping patients had taught Ratchet how to walk in near-silence despite the weight of his heavily reinforced frame and the speedster didn’t so much as twitch as Ratchet rounded the couch and stopped several feet away.

Drift had fallen asleep sitting up, arms crossed over his waist, his long, curvy legs stretched out before him with his ankles crossed. In a concession to comfort, his short swords weren’t clipped to his hips, the sheaths propped beside his feet instead. His Great Sword leaned against the back of the couch, its handle likewise within easy reach. Despite how deeply he was in recharge, he could clearly have his weapons in hand and be ready to defend himself in an instant should it be necessary. It was a Dead End instinct that Ratchet didn’t think he would ever fully lose.

But it wasn’t Drift’s readiness to instantly be able to fight that brought a smile to Ratchet’s lips now.

It was how Drift had felt secure enough in Ratchet's hab to remove his swords at all, even if he did still keep them close. It was how he’d actually fallen into recharge despite this not being his hab suite, his own safe space. It was the expression on that beautiful face, the relaxation around his optics, lips slightly parted, as he slept deeply enough that he hadn’t so much as twitched when Ratchet came in.

His spark swelled in its crystal and he pressed a palm his windshield above it. Every time he thought he couldn’t possibly love Drift more, somehow he still managed to fall harder. In that moment, he wanted to hold him so badly that his arms literally ached with the need to scoop him up and carry him to the berth, to cradle him close for the rest of the night and awaken him in the morning with kisses.

But he was smarter than that. Those Dead End instincts never went away, after all, as Ratchet had learned the hard way the first few times he and Drift had slept together--not interfacing, they had no problems whatsoever with _that_ , thank you very much. But as wonderful as they were together when making love, actually sharing a berth to _recharge_ hadn’t gone nearly as smoothly. They were working it out, but Ratchet wasn’t likely to forget the first time he’d sleepily hugged Drift close and thrown a leg across his thighs only for the speedster to snap awake in a thrashing panic. He’d had Ratchet pinned with a hand clamped around his throat in an instant, fangs bared, engine snarling, armor flared in an aggressive threat-display in response to the unexpected cuddle.

It had taken Ratchet a long time to reassure Drift that he wasn’t angry about his reaction, and that Ratchet wasn’t afraid of him afterward either. It had taken even longer to convince Drift to give it another try. It hadn’t been the only time such a thing had happened, but never quite that drastically, and slowly they’d figured out ways to work around Drift’s instinctive aversion to being restrained while still sharing the closeness they both craved.

So no matter how much Ratchet wanted to reach out and caress his cheek, or try to gently lift him up and carry him to the berth without waking him, he knew better.

Instead, Ratchet stayed back and reached out to him with his field. He didn’t even try to filter out the intensity of his emotions, allowing his love and gratitude and wonder to flow out until he felt Drift’s field begin to unfurl in response. He waited until the soft, sleepy projections warmed with recognition and welcome before he moved closer, still moving slowly, but this time allowing himself to make some noise as he shifted his feet.

Drift shifted at the sound, his arms unlocking from around his middle while still keeping his optics offline. One hand groped to the side, his movements uncoordinated and lacking his usual grace as he made an inquisitive sound and searched for Ratchet by touch.

Only now did the medic come within reach. “Hey, love,” he murmured as he caught hold of that searching hand. “You won't be comfortable recharging here all night. I’m going to move you to the berth, all right?”

Drift’s optics opened a crack, exposing a sliver of blue. “Oh no, m’sorry, Ratch,” he mumbled, starting to sit up straighter, and damned if even the way Drift let himself awaken slowly instead of instantly snapping to alertness didn’t make Ratchet’s spark sing. The trust that showed warmed him all the way to the core. “Meant t’wait up for you… you work so hard, was gonna give you a massage…”

Ratchet raised his hand to his lips and kissed each finger. “Don’t apologize,” he said between kisses. “You’re tired, love; so am I. Let’s get some recharge now and think about things like massages tomorrow, yeah?”

“Anything you want,” Drift agreed, giving him a soft smile, and Ratchet had to kiss those beautiful lips. Drift purred as he returned the kiss, soft and low and sexy enough to make him shiver from head to toe.

Ratchet made himself keep it short, though. Drift was still more than half-asleep and as much as he loved making love to him, right now Ratchet wanted to hold him even more than he wanted to interface with him. Ratchet released Drift's hand and slipped an arm beneath his knees and the other behind his back, scooping him up easily despite his weight. Even though Drift was a speedster model, his heavy-duty battle armor made him much heavier than others of his frame-type.

It was no problem for Ratchet, though. He was more than strong enough to carry Drift with no difficulty at all.

Drift’s optics opened fully when Ratchet straightened with him in his arms. “Hey, I can walk, you don’t have to carry me,” he protested, pushing at his shoulders. “You’re tired!”

“Hush. You’re tired too and it ain't like carrying you is a chore, you know,” Ratchet told him as he carried him to the berth--a much larger one than he’d had even two months ago, upgraded just so he could share it more comfortably with his lover. “C'mon, getting your sexy frame all up against mine like this? Love, this is a _treat_.”

Drift snorted but they were already at the berth and it was too late to argue more. Ratchet put him down and Drift scooted over so he could lay down beside him, and the speedster cuddled up against him the instant Ratchet was settled. “I’ll give you that massage in the morning,” he promised through an enormous yawn. “You work so hard. You deserve to be spoiled a little in return.”

Ratchet wrapped an arm around him--it was something they'd learned through trial and error, that just one arm around Drift was enough to satisfy Ratchet's desire to hold him without making Drift feel trapped. Drift nuzzled his windshield and molded his frame tightly to Ratchet’s with a happy sigh.

Giving Drift the control he needed to reassure himself that he was safe was the key. In return, Drift plastered himself against his lover, giving Ratchet the close embraces he craved. Give and take, compromises blending into something near perfection.

It was a work in progress, but all relationships were, and moments like these made all of the effort more than worthwhile.

“You can do whatever you want, love,” Ratchet told him, dropping a kiss atop his helm. “I'm all yours.” Drift's field glowed with happiness and Ratchet closed his optics, perfectly at rest as the gentle idle of Drift’s engine and the weight and warmth of his frame lulled him to sleep.


End file.
